


The Caged Wolf

by nickahontas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Self-Insert, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: Sansa Stark has a twin, a twin that grew up in the twenty first century. A twin that poisons some Lannisters, stabs another, blows up a castle, and yet still manages to lose everyone she loves.Self insert with no knowledge of books or show. Just an angry young woman that wants a pizza.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for weeks and weeks. I couldn't get it out of my head. While 'And Now Their Watch Begins' will take precedence, I can't stop writing this for whatever reason. It's going to be super grisly and focus on the horrors of captivity and war and what it is like to be a modern woman in Westeros. It will be told from mostly Nesta's POV; Ned just has the prologue. I'll continue if there seems to be an interest in it. 
> 
> WARNING: This begins with an explicit suicide attempt.

Ned strolled through the Great Keep with Robb and Jon at either side. He remembered following Jon Arryn through the Eyrie in a mock siege. He’d taken it with utmost seriousness while Robert jested about the best ways to sneak pretty women up to the mountain. Jon had been stern in his reprimand, but now Ned knew it was more of an excuse to play war games with the boys than any sort of learning experience. Best to keep them out of trouble with the heavy rain that was flooding the training yard as well. 

“And our living quarters?” He asked them. “Are they best utilized as they are?”

“No,” Robb said. “We could share rooms to free up space. I would also want Jon and Theon moved up here to keep the family together.” 

Jon eyed a door on the left warily. “So long as I don’t have to live with Rickon....”

Ned chuckled. Then, out of a mischievousness he hadn’t felt in quite some time, he winked at the boys and peered into his youngest’s room. He’d seen battlefields in better order. Toys, clothes, and a mysterious assortment of sticks and rocks were strewn across what may have ever once been a floor. It was clear that the servants placed more important items out of reach, including his best tunics and cloak. 

“This isn’t fair! Mother would have whipped me to the bone!” Robb cried. 

Ned winced. “Aye, but she won’t hear of it from me.”

“Why does he need so many rocks?” Jon pondered softly. 

“Why does he need a rock up here at all?” Robb countered. 

Ned shook his head affectionately as he closed the door. He made to continue on to the next floor but halted when his sons lingered behind. They shared impish looks outside Arya’s room. Perhaps it would be better to intercede. Ned knew from his own experience that nothing pleasant ever came from that particular glint in an older brother’s eye. 

A muffled cry came from two doors down. Nesta’s room. His first girl, his first babe born of love. She’d begged for the chamber overlooking the eastern hills and he could not refuse her. She was known to keep the windows open until the maids threatened to bring Catelyn up. She and Sansa were dreamers, his little girls. 

Dread settled in his bones like lead. It took all of his strength to put one heavy boot in front of the other. 

Eddard Stark pushed the door in and screamed.

Blood. So much blood. And the roses. The fucking roses. Sickeningly sweet florals and the metallic tang of his daughter’s life pooling onto the grey stone. It was happening again. He was too late. 

_Promise me, Ned._

Too late. Too late, again. 

His daughter’s choked cry pulled him up from his hell. Her trembling, left hand fought to cross her body. Mirror twins, Lewin had called them. Sansa was right-handed, Nesta left. Sansa’s left tooth came in just as Nesta’s right did. Every mole, every freckle was the mirror image of the other. What would one be without the other? 

Ned was across the room in half a beat, feet sliding in the scarlet puddle. He slammed his knee into the crook of her arm, pinning it to the stone. An inhuman howl echoed through the room. Her blue eyes flamed with a hatred, a lividity so deep it cracked his chest. She screamed and screeched and clawed and Ned cried. The tears blurred his vision as he fought to keep her pinned. 

“ROBB!” He roared. 

His son scrambled forward, kicking the bloodied dagger at his feet across the room. 

“Your belt!”

Robb’s fingers shook as he unbuckled his belt. The metal chimed as he held it out. 

“I can’t move. Tie it above my knee. Tightly.”

“No,” Nesta sobbed. The fight was leaving her as the grey of their house took over her skin. “No no no.”

He shifted more of his weight onto her arm. Maneuvering the leather through all of the limbs was a task all on its own. Ned’s thigh was as big as her torso. She was only a child. Why would a child do this?

In the end, her blood helped slide it into place. Robb pushed his hair out of his face, smearing blood and tears along his cheek. 

“Where did Jon go?” His voice croaked like a child’s. 

Ned couldn’t answer. That damn smell itched at his nose. It was hot, sweltering hot like the desert. He was tired. So tired of the war. So tired of all the death. 

“It will be all right,” Robb said. 

Ned jolted, thinking his son had slipped back in time too. 

“Fuck. You.” Nesta gritted out. 

Robb’s stumbled back at the rage in her eyes, his boots squelching the blood. Ned snarled, slamming his knee into her arm. She growled up at him. Whatever she found in his face made her look away. Not from fear, Ned realized, but guilt. He didn’t know if that was any better. 

The thunder of footsteps came first, then the clang of armor. 

Howland following him up the steps, the babe squalling. 

_Promise me, Ned._

Lewin did not pant with exertion despite his hunched back and grey hair. He knelt beside Ned to force a pearlescent tincture down her throat. Jon, of all people, passed the maester another potion, one as thin as water and as dark as night. 

Jon passed more supplies. She did not stir as he sewed. She slumbered, her small chest rising feebly. 

Lyanna’s breaths like death rattles as she cradled her son.

_Promise me, Ned._

Jon cursed darkly. Sansa stood frozen in the doorway. She did not scream. She did not cry. She stared down at Nesta with wide eyes and red cheeks. The twins, ever identical, had never looked so different as they were in that moment. Jon rushed to his sister, embracing her and holding her head to his chest. Murmuring something soft and melodic. When had that changed?

Lewin cut off the thread. He nodded grimly at his patient before accepting Jory Cassel’s hand. Ned rose in time with him, Nesta’s limp body in his arms. 

“Carefully, Eddard. Do not jostle her,” Lewin ordered. 

He left to the sound of Robb’s vomit splashing in the blood. 

* * *

She awoke with the moon. Her auburn brows puckered, long throat bobbing as she swallowed. She blinked awake but did not move. Ned waited. He’d waited days. Nesta was always conveniently asleep when he called on her. She stared at the stone ceiling with tears pooling on the pillow. It was some time before she took a shuddering breath and made to rise. She froze at the sight of him. 

“You look terrible,” his daughter said in a rough voice.

Ned remained stoic and unaffected as his steely eyes traced the contours of her face. 

“I will never forget seeing my nose on my baby girl. I was not there for Robb’s birth. Or Jon’s. I remember my heart swelling. It felt like it was going to burst. And then Sansa surprised us all and I almost fainted with joy. Even if you were not as beautiful as you are, I would think you the most beautiful thing in the world. You are my first girl.”

He shifted forward, his arms on his knees. 

“I love you, Nesta. I loved you before I held you in my arms, but then I did and I welcomed you to the world and you knew me. You knew my voice. There are...If there is something more than love, I felt it in that moment. I love you, Nesta. Did I not tell you enough? Is that why you did this?”

She glanced down at her long, elegant hands, then at the cot next to her, then at her nightstand. Anywhere but her father. 

Leather creaked as Ned rose from his chair. He lowered himself on the bed, lifting her shoulders enough to add more pillows. He helped her gulp down some water and lie back down. Still, she did not speak. 

He tried again, caressing the high cheekbones she inherited from her mother.

“Why, Nesta? Why would you take this from me?”

Her lovely features darkened with rage. 

“Take what from you? When was the last time you talked to me? Really talked?”

He frowned. Spring had finally come and so there was work to be done. The boys spent most of their time in lessons and the girls had their own duties with the septa. Catelyn knew more of what they needed than he ever would. 

“Sweetling, I am Warden of the North-“

“Yet you have plenty of time for Robb and Arya. Do you even know Sansa’s favorite color? What about Rickon’s? Or Bran’s? Jon’s or Theon’s? I know you don’t know mine.”

He opens his mouth several times. Sansa’s was surely blue, she was always in that blue dress. Rickon’s…well, Rickon was still half a babe. Bran….

“Your mother has always-“

“Do you think Mother is enough for Sansa? Mother is busy with Rickon and Winterfell and she’s not....” Nesta let out a heavy sigh. “You are a father, a Stark, a warrior. You are a lot of things. Mother is...Mother is a lady before all else. She is a lady even in the way she loves her children. I...I can’t do that. I can’t be that.”

Ned carefully gathered his daughter in his arms. This he expected from Arya. Nesta was half horse, yes, but she seemed to enjoy dancing and sewing and reading. He passed her with Jeyne and Sansa in the halls or chasing Rickon around the castle. 

“You will not marry for many years-“ 

“It’s not that!” She protested, pulling back to look into his face. “I could deal with that. Its the lady-ness, the-“ She tried to wave her arm but it only flopped back onto its cushion. Father and daughter cringed as one.

“I don’t understand,” He admitted. 

“Because you’re not a woman! We can’t do anything. I had to do lines for playing with Bran the other-“

“What?” Ned interrupted, completely puzzled. That didn’t sound right.

“What? _What_ what? Don’t you remember?”

He thought back over the last week. The Manderly’s reported an increase in trade with the clear weather, Arya was caught skipping her lessons, she’d come to him to apologize. Nesta had come in soon after. She was also upset over something to do with her lessons but Ned had tried to talk her down. It seemed to have worked. 

Nesta pulled out of his embrace. 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” She seethed. “I thought you just didn’t care but you really didn’t know.”

Ned’s features contorted into horror. “Of course I care! What is this about? Why that meeting?”

“THAT’S WHEN I MADE UP MY MIND.”

He cringed back, desperately searching for some sort of response, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tears filled her eyes as she spoke in the same rush she had as a girl. Always full of energy, his Nesta. What had changed?

“Bran and Arya asked me to play hide and seek after our lessons. There were a thousand kids running around so I thought it was best if someone kept an eye on them. Anyway, the Septa found us all muddy and sent Bran off and made Arya and I come with her. She sat us down and told us to copy the Maiden’s Hymn ten times.”

Ned cursed to himself. He had an idea of where this was going. He reached for the pitcher of water, hoping it would somehow come out as ale. 

“Arya and I were so pissed! We were done with lessons. Dinner wasn’t for a few hours. There was no reason for us to not go. She said that ladies did not play hide and seek, especially with children of low birth. Arya said it was stupid and it was, but I knew there was no way out of it. So I offered to do sewing for the orphanage instead, but _apparently_ , Arya and I need are remiss in our duties to the Seven.”

Ned poured himself another glass. 

“So not cool!” And her strange expressions. One had to pay more attention to her tone than her words to decipher any meaning. He’d thought it eccentric, adorable even, but perhaps he’d been remiss in that as well. ”I don’t like the Seven. I prefer the Old Gods, I always have. I told her that, Arya starts screaming about the North and it all fell to shit. Mother was involved, but Mother and I are never a good combination on any day, let alone with-”

“Why do you say that? I know she and Arya do not…Y ou do not have the wolf’s blood as Arya does,” Ned asked, frowning. Catelyn never complained about Nesta. 

“Are you for real?” She screeched. Her knuckles went white around her earthenware cup. The water splashed dangerously. He took it from her before she spilled it on her bandage. “We haven’t had a civil conversation since I was ten.”

“Whatever for?!”

“Because I’m not afraid to stand up for my brother.”

Jon. It always came back to Jon. Would the truth or the lie be the boy’s doom? Ned ran his hand over his face. 

“It’s not just Jon. She wants us to marry south, she wants Arya and I to be people we aren’t. I can barely handle it here. I can’t imagine what it’s like down there. She tells us to do our duty, and I can’t. Not like that. Not in the South. Father, I can’t breathe here. It’s like I’m buried deep and I’m exhausted and sore from trying to get back to the earth. I can’t do it.”

He shoved off the bed, pacing around the small turret room. When had it come to this? Winterfell adored Catelyn and the children she had given them. The men always treated her with the utmost respect. Yes, she was cruel to Jon, but it was for his own good. His survival, even. But to give the septa such free reign, to turn their children to the south....

Ned loved his wife, but perhaps that love had blinded him.

“What would you have me do?” He demanded. Perhaps not entirely of his daughter. 

She pulled at a loose thread in her bandage as she gathered her thoughts. He might not do as she said, but at least he would have an idea of what she needed. Finally, she took a deep breath and went on another rushed tirade.

“Being trapped in a castle with a man twice my age, praying to gods I don’t worship, nothing to do but sew and gossip. That’s torture. I might get lucky and get a man who lets me garden. If that. That’s nothing to look forward to. Let me marry in the North. Give me a husband that will let me ride in spring and drink with me by the fire in winter. Let me live, Father. 

“I want to see the world. There’s so much to see and learn. So many languages and culture.”

Nesta’s fervor dissipated as she reached the crux of it all. She spoke slowly, wording her request with care. “I know that isn’t possible, not for a woman of my station, so I would at least like to tour the North before I marry. See the Wall. Maybe visit the library at Castle Black. Can you imagine the history they’ve recorded?

“Jon should come with me. He’s only ever been at Winterfell, only knows how Mother treats him. He needs to see there is more to life than this.”

Ned scratched at his beard, not yet able to meet his daughter’s eyes.

“And Arya? She will not take well to Jon leaving on an adventure with you.”

“Arya will never be Sansa. Mother needs to recognize that. Forcing her into a mold will only make her wilder. You know this, I know you do. I see the way you look at her. So what if she’d rather play with swords than sew or paint? She’s the most loyal person I know and better at finances than any of us. She’ll be a good lady, just not like Mother wants. Foster her in Dorne or on Bear Island or Skaagos. Give Arya her own adventure.”

“And Sansa?” He wondered. What did Nesta believe her twin needed?

A hundred emotions flashed across her face. He couldn’t keep from softening. He could never imagine what it must be like to share as much as twins do. His girls even had their own silly language as children. Sometimes they hadn’t even needed to speak. They intuitively knew what the other needed. Ned paused, waiting for his daughter to wipe away her tears. 

“She is more like you than anyone knows. More like you than even Jon. She is quiet and kind and so smart. So smart, smarter than me, and she doesn’t show it. She doesn’t know she can.” 

And then, almost guiltily, she asked a question that would change Ned Stark’s life. 

“Do you know why she hated Jon and Arya so much?”

Jon again. It always came back to Jon. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. 

“She thought maybe if she looked like Arya and Jon, like a Stark, you might love her more.”

Ned Stark was gutted. He thought his heart broke when his sister begged for her son’s life with her dying breath. He thought his heart broke when his daughter, only three and ten and a hundred pounds, snarled at him in rage as she lay dying by her own hand. Ned Stark thought he knew heartbreak. He had not. Nothing could compare to the agony twisting at his guts. 

“You should keep her with you, let her know she can say more than courtesies, that she’s allowed to have opinions and feelings.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, completely unladylike. 

“We are not allowed to hug and kiss our brothers. She says it is wanton, that we will never find a husband and be loved if we show affection to any but our husbands.” A ghost of a sneer crossed her features. “Now, what one does when their brother is their husband is an entirely, different matter, but….Look, I know she’s just trying to teach us to be good wives, but can’t we be good sisters as well? Good daughters? Can’t we just live?”

Ned did not know how long he stood in the dark, staring at the flickering candle. It had been a long few days filled with worry and clumsiness on everyone’s behalf. Surely even his grandmother’s kin of the mountain clans knew what had happened by now. Suicide among the nobility was unheard of. Ashara Dayne still haunted the memories of everyone the survived the war, Ned most of all. 

Ser Arthur’s throat slit so deep it bent back when they lifted him in the cart. Dawn glinting in the hot Dornish sun.

_Promise me, Ned._

“Father?” Nesta asked.

He shook himself out of his trance. “Yes?” 

“Can you...I don’t want to use a bedpan.”

“Ah, of course.” 

He helped her out of the bed and onto the chamberpot. She lost a lot of blood. It would take weeks to have her full strength back. Ned watched silently as she struggled to lather the bar of soap with one hand.

“Will I ever use it again?” She asked, her voice meek. It did not suit her. 

“Maester Lewin says it is best if you train your right hand. Your left will never have the same dexterity or strength as before due to damaged nerves and tendons.”

He struggled to keep the iciness from his tone, the betrayal that Nesta would take herself from him. She clawed at his wrist after he tucked her under the covers. 

“Father, I am sorry. You, my family, Jory, Lewin, Rodrik, you all werethe only thing that made me hesitate.”

“I know,” he said, the coldness of his forefathers coming out. “I read your note.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You will not write another like it.”

And with that, he blew out the candle and settled back into his chair. Sleep took them both in an instant. 


	2. Jerry Springer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> This story will not follow the format of this chapter. I only used diary excerpts because it was the easiest way to show where she was and what she was learning and thinking. The last bit will be the way the rest of the story will be. 
> 
> Please review! What did you think? How did I do? What would you like to see? 
> 
> I’ve got about 15,000 words written so far.

HORNWOOD

294 AC

 

Seriously, who names their castle Hornwood? There are a thousand dick jokes in there. Jon didn’t appreciate any of mine. Theon would have laughed, or at least told me they were awful and came up with his own. Still, I guess I should be lucky to be here, out of Winterfell and breathing fresh air.

Some might say I’m lucky to be alive. I’m not sure when it all started. I just know that at ten years old, I realized that I knew more than any of my siblings. I knew things that children should not know, that people in this backwater medieval universe had no right of knowing. I realized that no one else remembered their previous life. God, or the gods, or whoever is in charge of reincarnation, has seriously fucked up. I need to speak with the manager.  
I thought if I died I might actually get that chance, or at least maybe I’d go on to my next life and forget about these two. Or maybe it would all end. Either way, I was not about to be gussied up and sold to a fifty year old man to push out a brood of snot faced little shits. My father ruined that well enough. Afterwards, when he came to the sick room and listened to my poppy-induced rambling, I didn’t think he’d take it all so literally. Sure, he might talk with Sansa and marry me to the North, but he’s done everything. The Nun, as I called her, is long gone. He hired a governess type of lady and took Sansa under his wing. She might be going to White Harbor eventually. Arya is going to Bear Island next year. I might see her there, we’re not sure yet. And little old me- well, I guess I’m not little. At fourteen-ish I’m at least half a foot taller than I was last time- is backpacking across the North with my favorite brother and three guards.

No, that’s not right. Jon isn’t my favorite. Rickon totally is. I didn’t have siblings before. It was just me and Mom in our little trailer. Getting six brothers and sisters plus Theon AND a dad was like all of my childhood dreams come true (There’s also that bit about a castle and being a princess in all but name.). It can be overwhelming, but when someone is being a dick you just go to a different sibling to take your mind off it.

My family was the only thing that made me hesitate. That is making me hesitate. Lewin said keeping a journal might help keep my thoughts sorted. I don’t think he meant it would help me decide to try and off myself again. I might as well see what this world has to offer. Who knows? Maybe there’s a Prince Charming out here in the northern wilds.

Alas, it isn’t the Hornwood heir. He’s absolutely besotted with his betrothed Alys Karstark. She sounds like she’d be fun. He also says one of the Manderly girls has green hair! Sounds cool too, but I’m afraid all the merman memorabilia will get the Little Mermaid soundtrack stuck in my head. I really freaking miss Spotify. Everyone thinks I’m an amazing, if somewhat lewd songwriter. Perks of the curse. They’ll worship me when I tell the Lord of the Rings. Ooooo, the kids will love Jeepers Creepers.

Come to think of it, I should probably stick to Disney for a while. I’m dreading the Dreadfort.

 

THE DREADFORT

294 AC

 

I have a sick sort of respect for the Boltons. Their castle is literally called the Dreadfort, their whole thing is FLAYING PEOPLE ALIVE and they make pink a threatening color. Doesn’t mean I like them. The closer we got to the castle, the more off things became. I thought this place was shit before. It’s even worse than I thought. People don’t mill about in their towns. Even children know to peer over their shoulder. No one would meet our eyes. It’s not right. We’re meant to protect these people, not scare them senseless.

And the Leech Creep- like seriously dude, WTF, you can’t drain crazy out of your bloodstream- keeps trying to set me up with his son Domeric. Cool name, but I can only think of Vin Diesel. And I SERIOUSLY doubt he looks anything like Vin Diesel.

Eugh. When I demanded to get married into the North, this is not what I had in mind. Leech Creep would probably kill everybody in my family to get his grandson in Winterfell. I should’ve lied and told him I was the younger twin.

I’m ready to go. I’m excited to see Karhold and meet the fabled Alys. I’m also ready to get out of the place with terrified maids and ancient, crusty chains hanging from the walls. I’m all for a little play in the bedroom but leeches and old blood are where I draw the line.

Speaking of, I totes need to get laid. I’m so good at riding that they say I’m a centaur. There isn’t a day, snow or shine, that I’m not on a horse. I can blame the whole hymen thing on that. 

Honestly thinking about leaving early, even if it means I have to camp more.

This tour is fun. Camping is not. Erik had to show me which bark is best for wiping the other day. Eugh. So gross.

 

THE DREADFORT (STILL :( )

 

Jon will not let us leave early. Something about Stark pride. Erik and Rhys agree. I do not. Forgoing life’s comforts on principle is so dumb. It’s probably why there’s a life expectancy of eighteen here. Don’t even get me started on infant mortality rates.

However, there is a good library collection. If I were to start my own Citadel without all the corruption and bigotry, this would be a very good source of that information. All hypothetical, of course. I still get weird looks for wearing pants when I’m camping. Don’t get me wrong, I love dresses and doing my hair as much as Sansa, but there’s a time for that. Riding across the largest part of the continent is not it. I’m still trying to convince Rhys to teach me how to use the spear.

Baby steps.

 

KARHOLD

294 AC

 

Remember the Prince Charming I spoke of months ago? Lord Karstark is determined that I find my One True Love (^tm) among his family. I knew this would happen. It’s one of the reasons I’m doing this tour, but Jesus Christ, there were four men lined up outside the gates. Like chill dude I just wanted to admire your trees. Is that too much to ask?

Karhold’s beauty is undeniable. It’s a small castle on a cliff high enough for the sea to be viewed from two of the towers. A massive forest stands sentinel around it. Awesome banner as well. I’d never say it to their face, but why the fuck does House Magnar have a lobster on theirs? That’s nowhere near as cool as a sun or a giant or A FUCKING FLAYED MAN. I’m half tempted to marry Domeric so that we can have a direwolf with flaying knives for teeth on banner.

Jon doesn’t appreciate it.

He’s finally helped convince Rhys to teach me the spear. Karstarks don’t like it, of course. Something about it being insulting that they can’t defend me? Whatever. I wanted to learn the spear to learn it and keep in shape. Alys agrees and admitted that her brother taught her how to use a sword. She’s a great hunter too. Of course, we really just want to get out of embroidery. Shits bad on your neck, man.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

294 AC

 

Jesus Christ I’ve never been so hungover in either life.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

294 AC

 

I didn’t even know this many types of ale exist. The moonshine is the true danger. It’s so delicious that you forget what you’re drinking and before you know it, you take another sip and BAM it’s the next day and you’ve got a raging headache, mysterious bruises, and in Erik’s case, a missing ear. Most of the Umbers’ revenue must go to their ale and liquor.

The smallfolk don’t seem to mind. It’s a small town. Very cozy and very boring. Hence, the never ending parties. They seem to like their liege lords and were super restrained around me until the infamous Mud Fight of Last Hearth last week. They’re all a bunch of badasses too. Still. It’s very boring. After the party wears off, what is left to do except fight off Wildlings?

Super interested in the Wildlings, btw. I’d love to know more about their cultures. Not in a good place to ask around though.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

295 AC

 

Convinced a drunk Umber guard to teach me how to throw an axe. I am officially a badass.

Lost my virginity. Again. Not as awkward as the last time, but infinitely more painful. Smalljon is not an apt name for the dude.

He awoke in a frenzy, freaking out about my honor and etc, etc. I smacked him across the face and told him that my honor is not determined by a piece of skin between my legs and that while I appreciated the marriage offer, I would take it into serious consideration but wouldn’t have an answer for him until my journey is over, and he had better not refuse me when I come to his bed again over something so stupid or I would make his life hell.

Not sure being lady of this place is worth the early onset alcoholism.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

295 AC

 

The Whoresbane hates me. I went to him for moon tea and he said that he would make my life miserable if I break his grand nephew’s heart. I wanted to say something about his grand nephew breaking my grand vagina, but I had a few questions that he would undoubtedly ignore if I tried to weird him out. Weirding these people out is my favorite thing in the world. They don’t know what to do when an elegant highborn lady dressed like a queen has the mouth of a sellsword.

Anyway, Whoresbane got his awesome moniker from Oldtown where he studied to be a maester. He, along with an old woodswitch, serve as joint maesters of a sort. He says the idea of a public university has merit, but there are also a lot of challenges to sort through. It very well may be my life’s work, if I ever do it at all, and it’s not possible to do as Lady of the Last Hearth. You would think a man known as the Whoresbane would be okay with premarital coitus.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

295 AC

 

I saw the Wall yesterday and all I felt was dread. I know magic and dragons were real. There are thousands of primary sources to prove it. But actually seeing it! No human could build that on their own. And it wasn’t built for the Wildlings.

 

THE LAST HEARTH

295 AC

 

I find myself loathe to leave Smalljon. I’ve never been in love. I don’t know if this is it. It’s only been three months, which is way longer than anywhere else we’ve stayed and way past schedule, but three months is like half of the life expectancy here. We’re good buddies and the sex is great. Spending the rest of my life with him, dedicating it to this village.... Maybe if I could go and see the world and have a life and then come back. We’re only teenagers. We shouldn’t have to make these sorts of decisions yet. And I sure as hell am not ready to be a mother. I’ve only not been a virgin for eight weeks! His kids would rip me apart.

No. I think I would be better off trying to start a university. I’m okay with having a big bastard or two in a few years.

 

THE MOUNTAINS

295 AC

 

Jon has fallen in love with the mountain clans. The scenery, the people, the serenity. It’s just us and nature. They construct their lives around their land instead of forcing the land to bow to them. House Burley’s home is hardly more than system of caves. Their godswood is planted in the entrance, the red leaves kissing the grey stone of the mountainside. I find myself there most of the time.

I have another journal, a much larger one, that I use for scholarly pursuits. Unfortunately, most of the North is an oral culture. The Old Ways are dying out because of it. The mountain people made me swear an oath to the Heart Tree that I will only keep it in Winterfell. Thousands of years later and they still do not trust the Andals. I can’t blame them. I don’t consider myself devout, but I’m still respectful of everyone’s religions. I would never go burning all the septs down because they made me uncomfortable.

I’ve become quite the philosopher after our field trip to the Wall. Jon thinks it’s the funniest thing ever. I was the one who kept bitching about him joining the Watch and now I’m obsessing over it. I just can’t get that horrible taste of dread and fear out my mouth.

 

 

THE MOUNTAINS

295 AC

 

The Wulls and Umbers must share blood. The amount of ale they can consume in a sitting is unnatural. I’ll be able to drink Father under the table when I get home.

 

THE MOUNTAINS

295 AC

 

But why would they build the Wall if they defeated the Others? And why did Brandon Snow want to go after the dragons with weirwood arrows?

Father will be relieved that I no longer want to jump off the abandoned tower. He will not be relieved that I plan to spend my life solving ancient mysteries.

 

THE MOUNTAINS

295 AC

 

The Flints are the spark to Jon Snow’s Fire, much as Smalljon was to me. They adore both of us. We are kin of sorts and they’re very proud of it. I’m proud of them. There’s a harshness to the mountain people that draw Jon and I to them. I’ve never seen Jon so free, so happy. I’m having fun here. I’ve been interviewing elders and healers and recording all that I can.

I won’t make him leave anytime soon. Old Tillie says she’ll teach me how to milk a copperhead if I can catch one.

 

BARROW HALL

296 AC

 

Barbrey Dustin fucking hates us and I’m living for it. She hates the Starks, hates my mother, and hates the maesters. She’s also master horsewoman. We’re totally going to be BFFs. She just doesn’t know it yet.

 

BARROW HALL

296 AC

 

Barrowton and the Rills are my version of Jon’s mountains. Nothing but empty plains and horses as far as the eye can see. The people are honest, amicable, and respect Lady Dustin even more than I do. We’re totes BFFs by the way. She snapped at me that I am my uncle born again, which is interesting. I think there was some drama with Uncle Brandon and my mother.

Nothing against Lady Dustin, though. Almost two decades later and she still grieves her husband. It’s why she hates my dad so much. Really not fair. He can’t help a war. I like her too much to make an argument out of it.

She likes me though, I can tell. She lets me have free reign of her horses and shadow her around the castle. Jon is going to go back to the Flints in a few weeks. I’ve decided to stay here for at least three months. I might see if she’ll let me foster here when the trip is done. Or like, you know, just live in the stables forever.

 

BARROW HALL

296 AC

 

I met the Bolton heir, Domeric, who is also Barbrey’s nephew. He’s a cool dude. Not as fun or hot as Smalljon, but he’s smart. Also, I would have to live with the Leech Creep (Barbrey has taken to calling him that too. It’s amazing.). Besides, he and I agree that Dreadfort needs a firm but kind hand, not a lady wilder than the Wolfswood. I’m really not that bad, it’s just that I seem terrible in comparison to what I’m supposed to be. Regardless, our generation will probably be the last of the animosity between the Boltons and the Starks.

He’s just got back from the Vale, which definitely bumped up the Eerie on my bucket list. I mean come on! A glamorous castle on top of a mountain? I’m thinking about pulling on mother’s heart strings. Her aunt is married to Lord Arryn and Father grew up there. There is, however, half a year of traveling left. I still have Houses Reed and Manderly to meet.

And there’s the Wall. Everyone tells me I’m being paranoid but it just feels weird.

 

MEDIEVAL FLORIDA

296 AC

 

Domeric died. A month after I met him, he’s dead. The official cause of death is sickness, but Barbrey blames it on the brother he went to seek out. On one hand, the bigotry against ‘bastards’ is absolutely insane. On the other hand, it’s the Boltons. Barbrey says the boy was born out of Last Rights, an illegal practice that of course Leach Creep still uses. It’s allegedly why Domeric felt the need to connect with him. It’s all a mess. I was loathe to leave my friend alone at a time like that, but she insisted she wants to grieve on her own. I told her to write me if she needs anything. I don’t think she will.

The Neck is fucking terrible. Meera and Jojen, Lord Reed’s children, met us at the border of the swamplands. I hate it. Jon is just as miserable as I am; he’s just better at hiding it. Thankfully, everyone finds my distaste for the humidity and mud and FUCKING BUGS amusing rather than insulting.

As much as I hate the swamp atmosphere, I am at awe of their culture. Their ways seem even more ancient than those of the Mountain Clans. It’s like stepping into another world when you come through the trees. There’s a man in our party named Gris that heard me talking about Old Tillie and poisons. He said he has a lot to teach me too.

Oberyn Martell better watch out. I’m coming to take his crown.

MEDIEVAL FLORIDA

296 AC

 

Greywater Watch does float, but it is not moving. I mean, I guess it could if they needed it to. It’s a great wooden structure built on ingenious rafts that allow the ‘castle’ to float along the rivers. Howland says they don’t release the ties and anchors until winter or an invasion. Makes sense, even if I don’t see how anyone other than a local could find their way this deep into the marshes.

Gris is a scary man. He knows more about venoms and poisons than is probably sane. Of course, I’m eating it up. Meera and I practice spear fighting in between our other lessons. The Reeds were smart enough to document all of the knowledge that has been passed down through their generations. As nosy as I am, I know not to be rude and ask for more than they’ve taught me. Apparently, their ancestors were the Children of the Forest. I asked Howland if there are more instances of families with the Children and the First Men. He asked why I thought there was a giant on the Umbers’ banner.

 

MEDIEVAL FLORIDA

296 AC

 

I am a fucking Disney Princess.

I am fucking magical.

No. Really.

I can FUCKING POSSESS ANIMALS.

Howland says it’s called skinchanging. I think it’s called FUCKING AWESOME.

I mean I totallyy messed it all up and named my baby trash panda Kanye West, but that’s not important.

I CAN FUCKING BE AN ANIMAL.

Sure, its a raccoon but come on! Opposable thumbs FTW.

He took me to their Heart Tree. There are many weirwoods in the Neck, but not all of them have faces. According to him, that’s a lesson all on it’s own. Anyway, we’re at the Heart Tree- which is draped with mosquito nets BTW, that’s how terrible it is here- and he pulls out this baby raccoon and tells me to meditate. So, I meditate, and then BOOM it’s all different and the world is huuuuge. I was in the fucking raccoon! Ah! I can’t get over it.

On a serious note, there’s something up with Howland. He was the only person to come back with Dad during the war and when I asked why Jon couldn’t try with me, he said it was something to do with is lineage. Then he completely shut down and politely refused to answer any of my questions. I told Jon, of course. He is my brother. My loyalties are to my family above anyone else. He wasn’t too thrilled. Went away to brood on his own. I’ll definitely be looking into it.

 

MEDIEVAL FLORIDA

296 AC

 

Fuck Disney World.

After weeks of learning about the Old Gods and the Old Ways, some of which are REALLY fucked up, Howland and an old lady named Bree took Jon and I to the godswood, where they taught us how to do fucking blood magic.

Not cool. Really not cool.

So first we slit this poor creature’s throat, then slit our own palm and placed it on the Heart Tree. Then BAM blood magic TV, but you can’t find the remote. I just saw glimpses and flashes of people in Howland’s godswood. It was pretty normal - as normal as it could be - until the Children showed up. It wasn’t the Children that really creeped me out. It was their fear, their desperation. I thought they were at war against the First Men until a bearded man in chainmail came and bowed before the Heart Tree with them.

Howland is a terrible teacher. He only tells us the bare minimum, refuses to answer our questions, and expects us to wait. Wolves are not patient creatures.

 

MEDIEVAL FLORIDA  
296

 

Holy shit.

It was all a lie.

Everything was a lie.

I just………

 

————————

 

Nesta Stark watched as her diary curled and blackened in the campfire. Her brother- because a lifetime of bruises and laughs and tears didn’t go away after a weirwood episode of Jerry Springer- sat beside her, scratching at the remnants of crocodile blood on his arm. Howland Reed had not been pleased with their youthful arrogance. He’d wanted to ease them in to the harsh realities of their world. Of their births. Of their fates.

MiKayla Rogers of Canyon County, New Mexico died so Nesta Stark could grow to save her family.

Tens of thousands died so Jon Snow could grow to save the world  

“They can go fuck themselves,” she snapped.

Jon startled. “What?”

“The gods. The Children. The Three Eyed Raven. The fates. Jerry fucking Springer. They can all go fuck themselves.”

Jon groaned, clawing through his thick curls in frustration. “Nessie, please don-“

“No!” She cried, pushing up off of their shared log to pace in their clearing. Only the quiet sounds of the swamp interrupted her rambling. “Fuck them, Jon. What do they know? Why does it have to be you and me? Who are they to decide?”

“Who else is going to do it?” He yelled, raising to round on his sister. “Who else knows?”

“That’s just it! We tell them! We tell Father and Robb and-“

“And bring this onto them?! We were born for a reason-“

“And it doesn’t have to be to die again!” She screamed.

She softened at how his handsome features blanched at the memory. She would kill them somehow. Put every one of the men that stabbed him on the front line. With a sigh, Nesta wrapped her arms around her brother and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“When the cold winds blow,” she whispered, “the Lone Wolf dies....”

Though she couldn’t see it, Jon’s grin was a frightening thing to see. A snarl born out of betrayal and love and death. “But the pack survives.”

Nesta stared out into the shadows of the trees. If the gods ripped her out of her life to be a wolf, she’d be a wolf, alright. Stags and lions and dragons and gods knew nothing of packs.


	3. Michelle Obama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be in third person, but it really didn't fit the feel I was going for. So now we're in first!

In New Mexico, the closest I ever got to meeting royalty was the time Michelle Obama drove through town on her way to a commencement speech. Now, I’m tied tight into a corset to meet the king of Westeros. It’s a pretty day by northern standards, so there’s that at least. I’m not the only one extremely agitated. All of Winterfell might be as excited as Sansa if they hadn’t worked their asses off for a week straight.   
“Rickon darling, you must go to your place,” Lady Catelyn says.  
She is stunning today. Her auburn hair is in a braided updo that emphasizes the sharp lines of her cheeks. I don’t particularly like my new mother, but I respect her.   
Rickon squeezes my hand tightly. “No. Nesta just came back.”  
“Jon and I have been back a month, Rickon.”   
He’s supposed to be in line after Bran. He’s supposed to sleep in his own room. He’s supposed to not curse or sneak off into the godswood. Of course he does none of those things. The poor kid has arranged his daily routine to revolve around this month’s favorite sibling: yours truly. It totally helps that I’m teaching him how to warg. Though honestly I’m wondering if Robb was is right and he’s too young for it. He and Shaggy get wilder every day.   
“It’s alright, ma,” I try to assure her.   
“Dear, please don’t call me that with the Queen so near,” Catelyn pleads.   
“Yes ma.”  
Father shakes his head, his lips twitching just the slightest bit. Then, he’s the stoic warden once more, until a young woman materializes. She looks very much like a miniature version of her father. Catelyn Stark nearly faints at the sight of her daughter come to greet the king dressed like a soldier, down to the sword on her hip and the leather greaves on her arms. Father shakes his head again.   
“Arya,” Catelyn whispers. “What are you wearing?”  
“Lady Maege doesn’t wear dresses,” Arya says calmly as she takes her place between Sansa and Bran.  
“I think you look very clean, Arya,” Rickon say from behind my skirts.   
Robb coughs. Theon doesn’t bother to try to hide his laughter.  
“Cleanliness-“ Mother begins.   
“Mother-“ I snap.   
Her retort is cut off by a proud man thundering through the gates. He’s obviously not an accomplished rider. That poor horse has to be in a lot of pain. The man puffs his chest out even further- unnecessarily pulling on the reins with the movement- and announces the King’s arrival in a clear voice. Everyone in the courtyard kneels, me last of them all. I like to think it’s a lingering protectiveness of my brother Jon, but I suspect its just the American in me. Kneeling doesn’t feel right. Ill have to do something particularly loud and annoying to make up for it. It’s a shame we don’t have fireworks. As  
The King’s procession is noisy and muddy. He’s big and fat and has the look of a drunk. Honestly, he wouldn’t look out of place at the Last Hearth. This visit might not be so terrible.  
He gazes around the courtyard, rather sadly it seems, before he joins Father in a fight embrace.  He greets Mother with kisses and says a kind word to Robb and then he’s here.  
Oh god. I take it back.   
This visit is going to be fucking awful.   
The desire in his eyes is just as repulsive as his stench. I can’t say its unexpected. Most men are hopeless when it comes to women that look like Sansa and me. I was pretty in a cute way before, but nothing like this. Men literally turn their heads for us. It’s annoying, unsettling, and sometimes frightening. We are always under scrutiny. Men leering and women critiquing. I don’t like it. I like it even less from a king.   
“You’re even lovelier than your mother. What are your names?”  
“Sansa, Your Grace.” Sansa says with a curtesy.   
“I’m Nesta,” I say. A moment of silence passes. It’s too much to bow again. Instead, I shove my  brother forward. “And this is Rickon, the Wild Wolf.”  
Rickon bows, reddish brown curls swaying with the movement.   
“Ah, protecting your sisters, boy?” The king asks, his demeanor suddenly serious.  
Rickon nods solemnly. “Nesta is my BFF.”.   
Robert Baratheon blinks once, twice, then gazes questioningly at me.  
“Best friend forever, Your Grace.”  
The fat king chortles. His chins dance.  “I see.”  
He moves down the line, still chuckling, and pulls up short in front of Arya. My hand twitches where my dagger should be.   
“And you are?” King Robert asks, voice weak. He licks his lips nervously.   
“Arya Stark, Your Grace.” Arya says. She bows like a lordling.   
Robert eyes her with a worrying amount of hunger, a deadly, wistful sort of lust. Kings should not look at girls like that. Especially daughters with fathers as important as ours.   
A too long moment of silence passes before he pastes that jolly smile on and tells Bran to show him his muscles. I don’t realize the Queen is moving down the line until she speaks to Sansa.   
Cersei Lannister is absolutely beautiful. I immediately want to punch her in her arrogant face. Keeping that image in hand is all that get me through a curtesy. Thankfully, she turns her attention to Arya very soon. It’s interesting. I think I see a bit of envy in the set of her jaw.   
The prince is absolutely beautiful too. One smile and a peck to Sansa’s hand and I put the armor up. He’s a total fuckboy. I really did try to keep an open mind. I thought, ya know, maybe they’re not all soggy turds, and I’m sure they’re all not, but I’m stuck with the bourgeoisie. It’s total horse shit.   
His lips touch my hand and it’s like worms slithering under my skin. I flood my mind with Kanye: his little raccoon thumbs, his wide belly, how lovingly he looks at me. It works. I hardly notice when everyone disperses.   
I grab Robb’s arm before he slinks away.   
“Godswood. The hour of the bat,” I whisper.   
The way we tell time here is ridiculous. Every hour has an animal. It was much easier when it was all numbers. The hour of the wolf is two am, the owl is one am, the ghost is midnight. I expected three am to be the hour of witches, but it’s the nightingale. Very pretty. Unfortunately reminds me of Skyrim and makes me melancholy for electricity.   
Robb nods and follows Theon back to the courtyard.   
Rickon tugs on my sleeve. “Are you meeting in secret tonight? Can I come?”  
I ruffle his curls. “‘Fraid not bud. You and I can practice warging before bed. How does that sound?”  
He sighs dramatically. “Alright I guess.”  
“Good. Now, we best run off before Father returns.”  
He miraculously listens. I watch him go off to play in the nursery. I wish I could go with him. I’m stuck inside sewing on this beautiful day. At least the Manderlys and Mormonts will be there. Lyra and Jorelle Mormont came back with Arya and Sansa invited the Manderly sisters when she left White Harbor. Their trips were good for them. Sansa doesn’t have a stick up her ass and Arya isn’t so angry.  
I settle in beside Wylla after I trudge through the castle. It takes a surprising amount of effort to  
arrange the mass of fabric I’m working on. Her green hair is rather unflattering. It’s very dull in the sunlight. The hue makes me think of the Neck, makes me think of visions and hard truths. I sigh and thread the needle. One battle at a time. The new outfits I’m making are sure to start a war for the ages.   
  


* * *

  
  
I corner Jon at the feast. He runs his hand down his long face. Most observers are thrown off by mine and Sansa’s Tully coloring to notice that we have the Stark features as well. Father’s slightly exaggerated bridge of the nose, he and Jon’s downturned lips. Though maybe that’s just us hoping to fit in with the more badass members of the family.   
Sansa and I have always been the ginger sheep. Father is at a loss with her and both parents are at a loss with me. He can handle Arya’s violent and rather muddy tendencies, but what can he do with such a feminine daughter as Sansa? Or me, somewhere in between the other two girls and too petulant to behave?   
I was not meant to be. Reincarnation does not exist. I always assumed something went wrong with my second birth, that everyone is reborn in another world and I just had the bad luck of remembering my first go at it. Apparently not. The Children summoned me. They sang an old, terrible song for another Stark. Another chance for their world to go on. There is no divine intervention, no reincarnation. Only terrible magic.   
And Jon. Poor Jon. His truths were even worse than mine. I really hope I’m there when Mother finds out.   
The satisfaction I would get from Catelyn Stark realizing that she’s abused a crown prince for years would be second only to soda and a pizza. I’ve managed to recreate hamburgers and egg rolls but the North simply doesn’t have the herbs and spices for a good pizza. Or the tomatoes. It’s probably for the best. I’m pretty sure I would get diabetes from just smelling a Coke at this point. My diet is healthy, I’m extremely fit, but a fever could send me to an early grave. It’s a strange world to live in.   
“I’m hungry,” I say aloud.   
Jon scowls. “Then go sit before they start looking for you and have my hide for it.”  
“If I didn’t love you so much I’d sit down with you. How long do you think it will take them to send me to my room?”   
“Don’t make this more difficult for Father. He’s already aged ten years since we’ve got home.”  
I follow Jon’s gaze. It’s true. We confronted him about Jon’s parentage. Told him about the visions of Others. His reaction was disappointing, to say the least. He believes we were seeing the past, not the future, especially since we saw the visions of the Tower. I can’t really blame him. It’s logical reasoning. But this place has fucking dragons. I don’t think logical reasoning applies very much.   
Father must sense our stare because he turns on us, motioning for me to take my seat.  
“Godswood. Hour of the bat,” I remind him.   
I kiss his cheek in farewell before I make my way to the diss. The hall is crowded and stuffy and loud. I never thought I would miss air conditioning up here. I’m pretty much as extroverted as they come, but even I can’t handle this many bodies in one room.   
Us heirs are given our own table just below the king’s raised one. It’s the royals, my family, and the Mormont and Manderly sisters. We all share bored smiles as the speeches and cheers go on and on. Finally, we’re given the okay to eat.   
The conversation is a little awkward. Everyone except Theon describes their homes and families. He finally gets to join in when the topic shifts to hobbies. I watch more than I speak. Myrcella and Tommen fear their brother. They flinch and tense whenever he grows excited. The little shit is good at hiding whatever he does. He’s a total fuckboy, but he’s a polite fuckboy.   
I’m so busy trying to figure it out that I’m startled when he shouts.   
“DOG!” He commands. “Dog! Here.”  
Weird. None of them mentioned a dog. I didn’t see one with them earlier. Surely if he liked a dog enough to bring it all this way it would have traveled at his......  
Oh. My. God.   
The Hound, the big scarred man, lumbers over from his table with the Lannister men.   
“You can’t do that!”   
The words are out of my mouth before I even think them.   
The prince furrows his manicured brows. “Pardon?”  
Everyone tenses in their own way. Lyanna and Arya, bless them, hold their knives like weapons. Robb and Sansa seem more mortified than anything else. They won’t meet my eyes. Bastards. Jon would have my back.  
“You can’t just call him over like he’s a dog!”   
Prince Joffrey doesn’t bother to hide his irritation. “I’m the Prince. He’s the Hound. If I tell him to do something, he does it.”  
“He’s a human being! Calling him-“  
“He’s _the Hound_ ,” he repeats slowly, as if I have a learning deficiency.   
“Just because his sigil is a dog doesn’t mean you can treat him like one,” I argue.   
“Doesn’t work for me. You can’t teach a kraken to sit and shake hands,” Theon interjects cheerfully. He winks at Tommen and Myrcella, who giggle at the image he’s described.   
“No one asked you, squid.” Then, without a glance over his shoulder, Joffrey waves his Hound away. The big soldier obeys without a complaint. “What are squids good for anyway?”  
Theon clenches his jaw. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Robb’s hand dart under the table. I call Theon a squid all the time, but it’s different when I do it.   
I grit my rebuttal through the fakest smile I’ve ever had. “Squids are fierce hunters. They tear up prey with their long tentacles so they can swallow it. It’s terrifying. And the Ironborn are krakens, not squids, so they’re good for quite a lot.”   
“How can a sea creature be fearsome in the middle of a continent?”  
The audacity of this little shit. How dare he come into my home and insult my family?   
Heart racing, I give the Little Shit my most feral smile. “Quite fearsome when he’s as much wolf as kraken.”  
Joffrey scoffs. “He can’t be both.”  
“Do you consider yourself a stag or a lion, Your Highness? You’ve got a lion on your chest,” Robb drawls. He oozes charm, but I know that smirk.  
Unfortunately, Rickon knows it too. He doesn’t understand the conversation, only that his eldest siblings are angry with the blonde shit. He puts a chunk of mashed potatoes onto his spoon and pulls back to flick, but Arya slams down on his hand. Everyone turns to stare at the clatter of dishes.   
“I think it’s time for him to go to bed,” I announce, standing up without leave.   
 I lean over to whisper to Robb that I won’t be showing up at the meeting. Twice a week we drink a mix of blood and weirwood sap and discuss what we see. I’m not in the mood after this clusterfuck.   
Rickon protests until I tug him in the direction of the kennels. We can camp in my room tonight. I need to have some fun. 

 

* * *

   
My maid Hilda wakes us late in the morning. Apparently everyone had a bit of a sleep in. The feast must have been wild.   
“Have the wolves been taken out?” She asks, already digging through the armoire.   
Lily and Shaggydog peer up at the word ‘wolves’. My direwolf is as black as her brother with Lady’s petite frame. Honestly, I thought Ghost looked coolest, but whatever. I have a fucking giant wolf. I can’t really complain.  
I grumble something that might be a yes. Beside me, Rickon yawns and stretches until he kicks me in the back. The wolves started whining and licking our faces at dawn, and lazy bitch that I am, I just opened the door and warged until they were ready to come back in.  
Rickon’s own maid appears. I ruffle his hair as he zombies off to get ready for a day of mischief.   
“Do not assault the crown prince with food,” I tell him.   
He mumbles something incoherent.   
“No’ with nothin else,” Hilda calls after him. She places her hands on her hips and glowers down at me. “That goes for you too, Miss.”  
I blink up at her innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
She purses her lips. She’s quite pretty. Always put me in mind of the ginger mom in Harry Potter, just blonde.   
“Mmm. And you’re trainin’ today?”  
“Yep.”   
That had been a fight and a half. Mother was in hysterics by the time she gave in to Arya’s nagging. I didn’t care either way; we could always sneak out to practice later on. Arya, however, said it was the principle of it all. I was quite proud of her, but honestly, the situation was so dramatic that I was tempted to run Jon through with Needle for giving it to her in the first place. When I told Theon that, he said that at least she hadn’t tried to kill herself, and then shut his mouth real quick when he realized what he said. I had to admit it was funny. Still didn’t keep me from kicking his ass over it though.   
“Do you want my help in dressing today?”  
“Mmm......yeah. You can get the bindings tight.”  
“Then you best get up, Miss. I ain’t got all day.”  
“Alright. I’m getting up.”  
Half an hour later, my boobs are pinned down, my hair braided even tighter, and my dress for later sent to the bathing room. That particular room is one of the perks of being a lady. It’s a cavernous bathhouse of hot springs. It’s reserved specifically for Starks and guests, but it’s easy enough for the household to sneak in during the winter months.   
The training yard is packed. Ser Rodrik built another two areas just for the King’s visit. Tommen and Bran are whacking at one another with tourney swords in the middle, with Stark and Lannister men on either side. I don’t think it’s supposed to be like this. They’re supposed to mingle and learn, not take sides and spar with their friends. Granted, the sentiment is totally hypocritical of me. I haven’t been a shining example of camaraderie.   
I make a beeline for Arya and her friends. They are leaning against the fence post near the weapon’s rack, calling out encouragement for Tommen. The prince is adorable, all padded up like a leather marshmallow. He can barely move for all the padding.  
“Good morning, Nesta.”  
I glance over at Theon. Dark circles line his eyes and his hair could do with a wash.   
“You look like shit. Party hard?” I ask.   
He grunts in answer. I’ll take that as a yes. We watch Tommen waddle around for a bit. Poor kid can hardly move his arms for all the armor.   
“Thank you. For last night.”  
Oh my god, a thank you from Theon Greyjoy. I’m going to pass out. Teasing will only ruin his attitude. Better to play it call so he doesn’t scare off.  
I shrug. “You’re annoying, but you’re family.”  
“Still. Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome. Is our noble crown prince going to spar with Robb?”  
Theon snorts. “Doubt it.”  
“Shame, that. It would have been satisfying.”  
“If Jaime Lannister was my uncle, I’d be learning all I could from him.”  
“I know, right? And Ser Barristan too. What a waste.”  
The match finally ends with Tommen rolling around in the dirt. It looks pretty fun, not gonna lie.   
“I was wondering if perhaps you’d thought any more about marriage?” Theon asks.   
My head turns so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t go full exorcist and keep going. He’s staring resolutely forward at where Robb and Joffrey are trading words.   
“No. Not particularly. Any reason why?”  
Theon shrugs. He’s pretty good looking with his dark eyes and hair. Eyes that dark on a white person aren’t common. It’s striking. Still, I’d rather not get the clap on my marriage bed.   
“You’re a strong woman. I think you can handle the Iron Islands. They would respect you.”  
“They might,” I agree. “But Theon-“  
“Oh, don’t say it,” he says nastily. “I’m just a hostage and-“  
“Don’t get an attitude. It’s not that and you know it. I don’t want to marry, Theon. Not at all. I want....I want to open a citadel of sorts.”  
He finally turns to look at me, incredulity etched into his features. “What, for women?!”  
“For whoever,” I counter testily.   
“Lord Stark would never-“  
“You don’t know that. Besides, it would be up to my husband at that point, and if I marry someone less important I would have the time to do it. I would be a lady of one of the great houses if I married you. That sounds like a nightmarish amount of work.”  
Finally, Theon smirks. It’s a real one, not one of those fake grins that hide his insecurities. “Don’t let your lady mother hear you say that.”  
“Honestly, I don’t know why Sansa agreed....why is he coming over here?”  
Joffrey struts like a peacock to our section of the audience. Everyone parts for him, bowing and praising the very air he breathes. Pathetic. He’s too much of a coward to even spar with my brother. He must need to reassert his dominance by bullying me.   
Arya and her friends, who have been gossiping to themselves, join Theon and I before the prince reaches us. The Mormomts, for all they hate the Greyjoys, share a nod with Theon. Oh, yes. They can ally with a squid for a little pompous shit like Joffrey Baratheon.   
When he finally graces us with his presence, we bow as sarcastically as we can get away with. Lyra manages it best.   
“Here she is, Dog! The fierce she-wolf. Even her attire leaves much to desired,” the prince sneers.   
“Forgive me if I actually practice using a weapon,” I say.   
“Aye, we might not be _desirable_ ,” Jorelle mocks, “but any northern woman could kick your pretty southern knights to the ground.”  
Joffrey scoffs. “I would put them on their knees where they belong.”  
“I think you misheard Lady Mormont, Your Grace. She was speaking of your knights, not you.”  
The Lannister’s pretty lips curl as he steps to me. Unfortunately, he’s tall enough to make me bend my head to maintain eye contact. Damn the Lannisters and their good looks. “Are you threatening your prince?”  
“Quite the opposite, Your Grace,” I say airily. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a berating from Ser Rodrik to avoid.”  
Best to make a quick exit before I do something to get myself killed. I twirl around his thin frame to find myself against a steel wall. Sandor Clegane glares down at me. This is a man I have no qualms with submitting too. He’s more than capable of kicking my ass. Probably all of our asses. Only a handful of the four hundred in the castle would give him any sort of challenge. He could probably cut through most of the Kingsguard without breaking a sweat.   
“You. Are not. Excused.” The prince spits.   
“Surely your Grace has better company to keep,” I reason, not looking away from Clegane’s gunmetal eyes. The intelligent glint is unexpected. Oh, he’s much, much more dangerous than he seems. And he seems deadly.   
“Aye,” Theon agrees. “I could show you what a kraken is good for, if you’d like, Your Highness.”  
“Or we could show you what real women are capable of,” Arya offers.   
“Your Highness,” someone interrupts.   
I turn to see Ser Jaime eyeing us all lazily. Clegane, however, does not move a muscle. The metal of his armor itches at my neck. I have to work hard to fight off a shiver.   
“Will we see you fight, Ser Jaime?” Arya asks, bouncing on her feet.   
“You’ll get no kingslaying from me today, I’m afraid. Come, nephew.”  
I can’t hold back my delighted laugh. What a badass. I wish I had cause to be that arrogant. I mean, really, what is anybody going to say to him?  
The Little Shit gives me a look of pure disdain. Nonetheless, he keeps his mouth shut and obeys his uncle. We watch them leave, all too aware of the Hound at our backs. I turn to face him with a polite smile. He doesn’t seem to care for it either way.   
“Will you be sparring, Ser?” I ask.   
The scarred part of his mouth twitches. “Not a ser. And no. Not many could give me a challenge here. Your father is about it.”  
“Is it the size? Or are you really good?” Lyra asks with narrowed eyes.   
He scowls at her, the scars on his face contorting so that the mottled flesh seems to weep. “Both.”  
“Have you met the Umbers, before?” I ask.   
“The fucks an Umber?” He snarls.   
Arya tuts. “Such language around such _desirable_ ladies.”  
Theon laughs cheerfully.   
“You’re playing with fire, girl,” the Hound warns. His sharp gaze flits between me and Arya. “You’ll be coming south?”  
“Yes. We won’t abandon our sister,” I say.  
“Do yourselves a favor. The prince will remember all of this and soon you won’t have a castle of savages at your backs.”  
“Are you threatening my-“ Theon demands, edging forward.   
“Why. You going to do something about it?” Clegane looks like he actually hopes Theon wants to.   
“Nope,” I interject. “We’ll mind our own business, promise.”  
He eyes me suspiciously, then stalks away without a word.   
“What was that all about?” Lyra wonders with a frown.   
Arya shrugs. “I dunno. Let’s spar.”  
We all copy her and jump into the ring. I do even worse than usual. My mind is everywhere but in the present. Why did the Kingslayer interrupt? And why did the Hound try to warn us? The closer it gets to leaving, the more I dread it. Starks don’t do well south and the true threat is in the North. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard for me to write this chapter because I've got all the good stuff in King's Landing. Next chapter will be the Kingsroad.


End file.
